Motorcycle Drive By
by PlrtzGlrb
Summary: Songfic. Literati. "Taste the salt and taste the pain, I'm not thinking of you again." Jess, after the break-up. From Venice Beach to Philadelphia and beyond.
1. Motorcycle DriveBy

**Disclaimer:** Just assume that I live in a cave and have no possesions.

**A/N:** I remember reading somewhere -- I think on the forums at GG. org-- a list of "literati songs," or something. "Motorcycle Drive By" by Third Eye Blind was on that list, near the top somewhere. It may have been number 1. Anyways, it's one of my favorite songs, and I'm bored and babysitting my brother right now. So, what the hell. I'll write a songfic.

Probably just a oneshot.

--

**Motorcycle Drive By**

--

I don't know what I'm doing in this city  
The sun is always in my eyes  
It crashes through the windows  
And I'm sleeping on the couch

--

He thinks that maybe one day he will get used to waking up in California. So many years of New England (of city life, of quiet small towns) has conditioned him to think that mornings are as dreary as the faded wallpaper of his dingy New York apartment. Luke, of course, never let Jess sleep in past 9, and the west-facing windows of the apartment-over-the-diner never let in so much as the general _glow_ of sunlight.

This was direct sunlight every day. It was scorching. It was magnified continuously by the blindless windows behind the sofa where he currently sits, squinting his eyes and pulling himself into a sitting position. He lets out a yawn and runs a hand through his messy hair. He hasn't had it cut since he left Connecticut two-and-a-half months ago, but it's California, and he figures it's probably better this way.

He turns on the news because there isn't a clock within view, and he wants to know what time it is. 7:48. He glares at the television and makes up his mind to go back to sleep. But he tries, and he finds that the sun is too goddamn bright. After numerous attempts to blindfold himself with Sasha's corny throw pillows ("I'm in no shape to exercise."), he slams it down on the ground, frustrated, and quickly jumps off the couch.

He goes to the fridge and drinks one of Sasha's energy drinks. It's Monster. Jess likes Red Bull. But that's not the point, because he is awake now. Jimmy's office is empty, so he enters quietly and makes a b-line for the bookshelves. Despite Jimmy's complete lack of actual parenting, Jess had somehow managed to inherit his taste in books, movies, music...It was uncanny. It was what had cemented Jess's plan to come to California, actually. That moment in the diner, when they were listening to "Suffragette City," was when he knew that he had to see Jimmy again. If the guy liked Bowie, Jess figured he couldn't be that bad.

Everyone else has bedrooms, and curtains, and it is Saturday, so they're all still sleeping. Jess runs a finger over the spines of books as he skims the titles. He will probably do what he has been doing all summer - wake up early, read on the boardwalk, and be home before dinner so Sasha doesn't make him share the couch with Legolas. Anything could become routine if you did it enough.

His face goes blank as he passes over a familiar title. It is Charles Dickens, and it shoud not inspire such dread in him. But the memory gets pulled to the front of his mind, and now she's standing there, with her recently purchased school supplies and her superior knowledge of everything, and he has an Ash song stuck in his head for reasons he can't explain.

He shakes it off and continues his search for a book to read today. This time he skims past _The Yearling_ and he wonders why Jimmy even owns it. But he can remember now a conversation in the diner. She is ranting about a movie festival and sipping coffee, and she looks good in her uniform. If he closes his eyes, he will be able to smell her, so he doesn't. That would be too painful.

It's not like he wasn't expecting this little trip down memory lane. It, too, was a part of his routine. Every day, as he attempted to select a good novel for the reading, he remembered. How could he not? She had managed, in the brief amount of time that he knew her, to attach herself to almost every book he had ever read, every album he owned, every article of clothing he had worn, every damn thing.

It kills him, but he deals. He won't let her prevent him from reading ever again. Just because he associates her with all the things that make him happy doesn't mean he's going to stop doing those things. It's just going to kill him. A lot. And painfully.

Jess takes in a deep breath, puffs his cheeks out as he holds it in, and nearly passes out from the lack of oxygen. He is blinded for a moment, and he laughs softly to himself. He is going crazy in this house, and he wonders if he'll ever leave.

Finally, he is done with searching. He chooses _The Holy Barbarians_ and he doesn't even bother chastising himself for the selection. He has wanted to read it since she showed it to him, so he's going to, dammit.

Outside, he is attacked by dogs, but he is wearing leather. He is used to this by now.

"Yeah, fuck you, Legolas," he says as he kicks the dogs back so he can shut the gate. A passer-by hears him and gives him a questioning glance. Jess just returns it with a withering stare. Fuck, really? She's everywhere.

He sits down at a park bench he is well acquainted with. He sees a hemp-hat guy named Stanly (who bums cigarettes from Jess every once and awhile), a blonde woman rollerblading with her golden retriever (who looks suspiciously like Chrissy from Three's Fucking Company), and a gang of Mexican teens loitering outside a fish taco stand. He is on the Venice Beach Boardwalk, and he can see his biological father's literary hot dog stand from here.

He opens up his book and begins to read, and he wishes he were in Connecticut, failing all his classes and shiverring in the cold and pissing off Taylor.

--

When I came to visit you  
That's when I knew  
That I could never have you  
I knew that before you did  
Still I'm the one who's stupid

--

His hair is long. Hers is short. It's kind of funny.

He came to town for a car. He came for the car. The fucking car. Luke stole it from him, and he came to get it back. That's all.

Her hair is shorter now. That's what Gypsie says. He believes it, too, because a little while later, he's sitting in Weston's trying to avoid her and he sees her. His hair is long; maybe that's why he leaves--to avoid the awkward conversation they would inevitably have about the way they changed their hair. That's it.

It's freezing cold outside, which he should have predicted. Last night he nearly died of hypothermia. After he ran out of Weston's he went to Luke's. Liz was there, so he left. And then he did something really stupid. He went to Andrew's book store. Part of him knows now that it was just his inner masochist, begging to see her again. To see her eyes say "you hurt me," and really mean it.

So he's sitting on the floor, reading some Al Franken book, and he sees her. He leaves again, because he really doesn't want to talk about hair.

He shoves his book into his back pocket and rubs his hands together. The friction will keep him warm. He stops by the bridge and sits down in the middle, and he tries not to think so much about the temperature. When he was in California, he couldn't wait to get back here, and now he wonders why. A few months away from the East Coast and he's a California kid. Wasn't he born in New York City?

Rory floats into his brain again. She is an apparition, sitting beside him on the bridge. Her hair is long again, and she is telling him about Howard Roark. He changes the subject when he lets his affection for her slip into the conversation. "Ernest only has lovely things to say about you."

Now she's further away from him. Her hair is curled and pulled back into a ponytail. She is all alone, dangling her feet over the edge of the bridge. He can see her breath, hot and ragged. Is she crying?

No, but there he is. She rants, he sighs heavily. Blah blah blah. Now he's walking away. He's going to go break up with Shane so he can be with her. It's truly a great moment. One of his Top 5 of all time.

Fuck it's cold.

Later that night, there are twinkle lights in all the trees, and a bonfire, and Ms. Patty is drunk. He sees Luke, and he is so obviously in love with Lorelai, it's a wonder she hasn't figured it out yet. Gypsie has finished repairing his car, so he starts to leave. But he sees her, with her short hair, and her perfect face, and her stupid blue eyes. This time she wants to be the one to leave. He chases her around the town until their lungs give out and they have to stop. He feels like an 8-year-old girl.

"I love you."

It's the truth, too. Not that he was even thinking it when the words slipped out of his mouth. He was thinking, "You cut your hair." He said it, too. But that's what he was thinking when he said, "I love you," even though he meant it.

He says, "I love you," and before she can even process the fact that his hair is probably longer than hers, he gets in his car and drives away. She would cry if she could. He screams at the top of his lungs once he hits the highway.

--

I go home to the coast, it starts to rain I paddle out on the water  
Alone  
Taste the salt and taste the pain  
I'm not thinking of you again

--

Jess is out of gas. He pulls over in Nevada and trades his clunker in for an old Harley. It is black and the leather is worn. The chrome needs polishing, but it works. It kind of suits him.

He gets back to Jimmy's exactly one week after leaving Stars Hollow. He has this feeling that he won't be in California much longer. For now, he's going to make the most of it.

"Is that your surfboard?" he says to Jimmy.

"Uh huh." Jimmy isn't really paying attention. He's paying bills.

"Huh."

It's the next day now, and Jess wakes up early. The goddamn sun keeps on shining. He passes up the trip down memory lane for an impromteau surfing adventure. It can't be _that_ hard.

He tries to stand up. Jess realizes that he is not very good at surfing. So he finds the surfboard's center of gravity and sits upright, allowing himself to drift out a little further. He paddles a little. There is a wave approaching now, and he figures once more couldn't hurt. This time, he is better. He paddles towards the shore, faster and faster, until he is riding the wave. He pushes himself into a standing position, and it is enough like skateboarding.

Even if it is only for a moment, he has forgotten about Rory.

--

The cigarette ash flies in your eyes and you don't mind  
you smile  
And say the world it doesn't fit with you  
I don't believe you  
You're so serene

--

He is back in New York City. He knew that Venice wouldn't last. That Jimmy wouldn't last.

It smells like shit in his new apartment. He got a job as a bike messenger. How fucking cool is that. Rory would be proud. Speaking of which: he has to remember to set his alarm for 4. He's covering for someone at work tomorrow. At 4:30 in the morning.

He thinks about her sometimes. A lot, actually. About her new hair and her Ivy League education. He misses her smile. She used to smile at him all the time, for whatever reason. She thought he was funny or something.

He took her to a Distillers concert once. He was being an asshole, so he thought he'd be a good boyfriend and trick her into forgiving him by making her think he never knew that she was angry at him to begin with. It worked. He brought her some earplugs, because it was the Distillers. She kept trying to get him to admit to thinking that Brody Dalle was hot, but he wouldn't do it. She held his attention that whole night.

On the way home, they rolled down all the windows in his car and blasted a mix that Lane had made for Rory: chicks that rock. Yeah Yeah Yeahs and Dresden Dolls and Elastica. Stuff like that. The windows were down, so he smoked a couple of cigarettes. She didn't say anything. She just smiled this weird kind of smile--like she knew it was bad for him, but she thought it was hot. He started quoting _The Breakfast Club_ and she laughed.

"I wanna be just like you. I figure all I need is a lobotomy and some tights."

Ha ha ha.

Like that.

His alarm clock sounded, and he pounded the snooze with his fist.

--

And this is the last time  
We'll be friends again

--

He wrote a book. For her. He wrote a book for her.

How many years has it been? One, two? Okay, so not that long. But she has a new boyfriend, and he's a total jackass. She dropped out of school. She's living with her grandparents.

Her hair is long again.

Jess Mariano wrote a book, and Rory Gilmore didn't finish college. What kind of bizzaro dimension did he just step into? He goes upstairs to her bedroom. It is far too girly. Too neat. He shows her his book, and when her face lights up, he knows he's made it. If he had less self-control...Well, things would have gone a little differently.

Their conversation is easy. She laughs at all his jokes. He smiles everytime she blushes. It's like they're back in Stars Hellhole, sitting at Luke's Diner or on the bridge, debating David Bowie versus Iggy Pop. She is proud of him, he can tell. He wonders what the hell happened to her.

His name is Logan Huntzberger. As in his last name is Huntzberger. He's loaded, but Rory never cared about money. She also never stole yachts or dropped out of Yale or went to Yale in the first place. He wants to tell her everything. About Philidelphia. About his life--how he has one now. He's changed for the better, and he wants her to be proud of him.

So there they are, eating dinner like two civilized adults. And then her boyfriend shows up and tries to one-up Jess with his literary knowledge. Rory is unimpressed, but she still tries to make excuses for him. Outside, Jess yells at her, and he thinks she gets the message.

Let's hope she got the message.

--

And there's this burning  
Like there's always been  
I've never been so alone  
And I've  
I've never been so alive

--

Jess is laying down in bed. The blinds are drawn shut, so it's dark in the room, but he thinks it's probably late-morning by now. He doesn't have anything to do today but a meeting later on at night, so he allows himself to sleep in. His cell phone beeps, and he sees that he has one new voicemail. Someone must've called while he was sleeping.

For a moment, he considers letting the message go, but he knows that if he lets one slip, he will with the next, and the next. And then he'll have 20 new messages and he won't listen to any of them. So he dials his own number and waits for the first message to play.

It's Rory. She's back in school, he knows. He hasn't thought about her in at least a week. Luke told her about his business. She's coming up to see him. She'll be there by 5.

Fuck. It's 11 now. He gets up and takes a shower. His hair looks stupid, he decides, but it doesn't matter. Rory either wants him or she doesn't. The end.

Five o'clock comes quickly. She is on time, and it makes him smile. She is beautiful, he thinks. More so than before. She has bangs that fall straight across her forehead, giving her the impression of youthful innocence--something he knows better than to think she still possesses. He wants to touch it, but he refrains.

"Hi," she says. She is nervous, and he is overwhelmed with the urge to vomit, but he refrains.

He merely nods in recognition.

"So, this is your place," she says, her voice picking up an octave as she hits the last syllable. It's sort of a question.

"Yeah, it is."

A half an hour later, she is on the couch, and he is sitting on the edge of an ottoman. She tells him that she is back in school, which he already knew.

"I know," he says.

"Oh."

"Luke told me."

"Right..."

He makes some coffee and pours a mug for each of them. When he comes back to the couch, she is flipping through a _National Geographic_ aimlessly. A picture of the Grand Canyon catches her attention.

"I've never been to the Grand Canyon," she says.

"You should go."

"You've been?" She is surprised that he's been somewhere like that. The Grand Canyon, the Great Wall of China, the Eiffel Tower, Niagra Falls. A landmark, and he's been, and she hasn't.

"When I was..." On my way to California, he almost says, but doesn't. "Out West."

She pouts. "I wanna go."

"You will."

She closes the magazine sadly and sets it down beside her. She gets lost in her mug for a moment, but snaps out of it once it's been drained.

"More?" he offers.

She shakes her head. "Not now."

She sets the mug down on the coffee table as he reaches for his own, and their eyes meet. He wants to say something to her--nothing in particular, just something. _Anything_ really. She opens and closes her mouth, as if she were going through a similar thought process.

"Why'd you come here, Rory?"

"Luke told me about--"

"Bullshit."

Her brows knit together, more out of frustration than actual confusion. "I..."

"You what?"

"I missed you. This. Well, not _thi_s..." She gestures to the empty space between him, and his brain explodes. Metaphorically, of course.

"Don't give me that. Don't tell me you missed me, you don't mean it."

"I do," she insists. "Ever since, you know...I was a mess. I wasn't talking to my mom." She shakes her head woefully, like it's supposed to mean something. "But I'm back in school now."

"What about Logan?"

"What about him?" She shifts uncomfortably on the couch. She's still with him.

"Are you still with him?"

"Things are...complicated." Yes. She could have just said yes.

"Complicated."

"We haven't--I haven't been together. Lately. It's nothing official, but I've been staying at my mom's a lot more lately."

"Huh."

They had been inching closer together the whole time. It was like some dramatic love scene. The scorned lovers move closer and closer, until they're only inches apart. She'll find his lips eventually.

He brushes a stray strand of hair out of her face and catches her eyes with his. She gulps. And then they kiss. It lasts less than 10 seconds.

"Jess..."

That's all she has to say. He knows it's over. He'll see her on Thanksgiving. Possibly at Christmas. The occasional Easter, sure.

"I'm sorry, I should--" Go. She should go. That's what she's trying to say.

He flexes his jaw and nods.

"You shouldn't have come," he says.

"I know." They kiss again, once they're standing by the door. She runs a hand through his hair and he presses her body against the cool glass of the door. It is raining outside. He thinks it's appropriate weather.

"Do you ever wonder what would've happened if you had--"

"All the time."

She sighs. Her face is burried in the crook of his neck, and he can feel her damp breath on his skin. It's a sensation that was once familiar.

"I wouldn't have dropped out of school. You were so much better for me than he was." Her tone is bitter now. It's a Rory he never got to know, the one speaking now. She has a troubled past. A chip on her shoulder.

"Don't talk like that. It's not you."

"Yes it is." Yeah, it is. He kisses her forehead lightly. It's the kiss of death. "We would've been great together," she says. Her voice is far away. She is starting to pull free from his embrace.

"Isn't it pretty to think so."

--

**A/N:** Review, please.

I'm working on the next chapter of _Welcome to the Hellmouth_ and all, but this came first. Maybe now I'll be able to focus...


	2. Persephone

**Disclaimer:** I disclaim pretty much everything. The lyrics are from Third Eye Blind's "Persephone," which I definitely don't own.

**A/N:** There will be one more chapter after this one. I think the first chapter stands alone, so if you want to consider these next two or three parts unnecessary follow up (could haves and should haves), go for it.

Also, to anyone who has read _On Your Porch_, I do intend to finish it at some point. There will be one or two more chapters for that one.

* * *

**Chapter 2**: Persepohone

* * *

_Cigarettes fill my lungs_

_One by one by one._

_And I wish spring would come_

* * *

He thinks the apartment over the diner is probably as close to a "home" as he'll ever have. It's 8 o'clock at night, it's late November, and he's in Connecticut, so it's already completely dark outside. Even though he quit smoking a long time ago (because of her, because he no longer had a death wish, because…because he just did), he's currently standing in the alley behind the diner, puffing away on his third consecutive cigarette.

Nervous habit.

She's in there, laughing with her mom about some fake-tanning, Jersey Shore wanna-be guy named Forrest who she briefly worked with on the campaign trail. He's only heard snippets of the conversation, but apparently he hit on her a few times. She politely declined.

Jess wonders if it's because she still has feelings for Logan or not. Well, obviously, she would never have said yes to the guy if he actually lived up to the Guido description. But still, it's a thought that's definitely floating around in his head now. Rory and Logan. Logan and Rory.

He laughs bitterly and takes another puff of the cigarette. He knew they wouldn't last. The Ivy League connections, the DAR high life—none of it suited Rory. She was too good for all of that, and he knew it was just a matter of time before she got her shit together and became Rory again. But she wasn't his Rory anymore. Sure, she probably still hated Hemingway with every fiber of her being and drank too much coffee and made pro-con lists before she got dressed every morning and found Demetri Martin hilarious and enjoyed Distillers concerts…

Rory was still Rory. But his Rory was way too good for him. She knew nothing of the temptations of misbehavior. She was infallible, and she was likely to never screw anything up, ever. She was the town princess, and she hated it, because she couldn't understand why she was viewed as such exceptional person. She did when her mom was out of town. She had a way of giving Jess these really sincere, "you could do so much better" pep talks any time he struggled in school or in anything else. She was going to learn a half-dozen foreign languages and travel the world and touch everyone with her infinite wisdom and kindness and beauty.

Her whole world was different now. Logan, the yacht, Yale, her mom—it was a rough patch for her, to say the least. By now, she'd recovered. She went back to Yale, graduated, got the kind of job she really deserved. Surely she was less of an optimist now. Not quite jaded, but certainly world-weary. This was all just speculation on his part.

The last time he saw her, she was running through the pouring rain toward her car. Running away from Pennsylvania—away from him. She kissed him that night. Twice. Whatever had been there between them in high school was definitely still buried somewhere. He was admittedly still very much in love with her, even if his love for her had become less active. Like everything else in existence, love changes, fades, shifts, transfers itself. Jess had been too proud to admit his love for Rory when he had her. He ran away from her, and the pain was almost unbearable for a while. Then he told her the truth while he was thinking about her hair, but it was too late. After that he tried desperately to move on. He relapsed, asked her to come away with him. God, was he an idiot.

And then he wrote her a book. He took everything he had ever felt for her, and he transformed it into something tangible, worthwhile, even. By the time it was finished, he had undergone enough catharsis and she had changed enough for him to actually make some progress in the moving-on category. He dated a bit—nice girls, funny ones, good looking ones. None of them were even close to Rory overall, but they were more than just petty distractions for Jess. He had been trying.

If only she hadn't come to him in Philadelphia. He's convinced it would have all been fine. But everything, every goddamn moment they spent together, the way she felt and looked and tasted, the way she spoke, the way it was and could have (should have) been. All of the progress he'd made went out the door, ran through the rain, hopped in a car, and drove itself back to Connecticut.

"Isn't it pretty to think so." Did he really say that? Yes, he did. He thought she'd appreciate the reference. Maybe she thought about it on the drive home. Rory probably hated being compared to Brett. She probably thought about all the crap she had put him through and all the crap he had put her through, and she probably fucking hated thinking about it.

Again with the speculation.

Jess finished his cigarette and extinguished it with his shoe. "Shit," was all he could think to say. He ran a hand through his hair and tried to muster up the will to go inside and get it over with. Of all the weekends for him to come visit Stars Hollow, here she is, fresh of the campaign trail and back home with her mom while she waits for the next job to start up.

Not that this was an entirely unlikely occurrence. Jess had been stopping by to visit Luke more and more frequently as of late. The whole "only real home" thing. Once or twice every two months, Luke lets him stay in the apartment for a weekend, and he helps out in the diner pouring coffee and refilling salt shakers. Every time he comes, Luke insists that Jess let him pay him for his trouble, and every time he does, Jess tells Luke to shut up and let him do a nice thing without having to hear about it ad infinitum.

Luke just laughs and tells Jess he hasn't changed a bit.

* * *

_She's barely moving now,_

_Warming in the sun,_

_I left her colder now,_

_Than almost anyone._

* * *

When he finally works up the courage to go inside, he figures it's best if he pretends he has no clue she's been there the whole time. Yeah, he was just upstairs in the diner reading a book. What book? Well, he's just been working his was through _Howl_ for the 50th fucking time. Hah.

Rory sees him and, though she's initially stunned by his presence, it's obvious that Lorelai already briefed her daughter on the Jess situation.

Immediately after Jess steps through the curtain, Luke relieves some of the tension by handing Jess the coffee pot and sending him to the other side of the room. Rory's gaze goes straight to her half-eaten burger. She picks up a fry and swirls it around in the ketchup. Lorelai and Luke exchange a series of looks that say, "Well, this is awkward." Jess makes the rounds, asking everyone if they want any more coffee. He throws a few sideways glances in Rory's direction, trying to gauge her attitude. It's not like they left things off on the wrong foot, it's just that they left things off on no feet at all. That kiss was the end of the road. It was look at all the things that could have been and never were. Look at what it was and say goodbye.

It occurs to him that she's a paying customer and that she ordered coffee and that he's probably going to have to refill her cup. He can't avoid her—that would be too suspicious.

"Coffee?"

She looks up at him, smiles politely and says, "Sure."

The eye contact is steady. It's refreshing, he thinks, looking into her eyes like that. Not in the sappy, "Golly, miss, your eyes sure are blue!" kind of way. It's just that he hasn't seen her in such a long time, and there was always something about the way that she looked at him that he loved. There was never any judgement, no pretension, no condescension. She just saw him.

Okay, kind of sappy.

"Thanks."

"Uh huh."

Lorelai and Luke do their best to lighten the mood by chatting about the latest town function. Something about the troubadour refusing to sing some song at the Thanksgiving festival because it glorifies colonialism or something like that. Taylor keeps insisting they get rid of the troubadour once and for all. The rest of the town thinks he should give it a rest.

Jess sets the coffee pot back down on the burner, folds his arms across his chest, and takes a seat on the stool behind the counter. He jumps slightly when Rory clears her throat.

"Mom told me you were in town."

"Huh."

"Yeah…" She laughs softly to herself and continues to swirl the fry in the ketchup. "How's the publishing business?"

He's aware that she's making small talk, but she does sound sincerely interested. He decides not to be an ass. "It's good. We're actually in the process of expanding our company right now."

"Really? Jess, that's great." She smiles widely, now. She's proud of him, and he knows it.

"Yeah…"

She opens her mouth to speak, but before anything can come out, Jess stands abruptly, turns to Luke, and says, "I'll be right back." He gives Rory a look and exits the diner without another word. Luke just mutters a "yeah, okay" and continues his conversation with Lorelai. Rory rolls her eyes and takes another bite of her burger before it all clicks into place.

Five minutes later, the burger and the fries are gone, the coffee is drained, and Rory kisses her mom on the forehead. "I'm going to Lane's, but I'll be home later."

"Mmkay, sweets. Not too late, though. _Rush Hour 2_ is on TBS at 11."

She just laughs and shakes her head before exiting the diner.

* * *

_I sit by myself,_

_Memories are all I want_

_In the last light of the sun._

_Old emotions are coming back to me…_

* * *

Jess takes a seat on the bridge (their bridge) and lets his feet dangle over the edge. Rory will figure it out eventually and join him there. She's a smart girl.

He comes here far too often.

"Hey." It's all she can say. He nods in acknowledgement as she sits down about a foot away from him and wraps her arms tightly around herself. It is, after all, very cold outside.

After a beat, he jumps right into it. "I told you the publishing company was expanding."

"You did." She nods.

"Yeah, well, we're opening an office in New York. We're relocating, actually."

"New York?"

"Uh huh."

"Like, New York, New York?"

"The big apple."

Beat. "Oh." She smirks, and he takes notice.

"What, 'oh?'"

"Nothing, it's just…" She laughs quietly to herself and tightens her hold on herself even more. She continued, "That time I skipped school to go see you in New York. I called it 'the big apple.'" Shrug. "It's just funny."

"Yeah, well. That is me."

Silence falls and the wind starts to pick up, causing the water to splash aggressively against the bridge's support beams and Rory's hair to start whipping around her face.

Suddenly, something occurs to her, and she clears her throat. "So, New York..."

He doesn't say anything. He knows where this is going. Why else would he have mentioned it in the first place?

"It's funny because I'm moving to New York in a few weeks. I got this...job...thing. At CNN, actually."

"Overseas correspondant?"

She smiles, "No, just entry-level stuff. It's nothing fancy, but Christiane Amanpour started out with basically the exact same job."

"You'll be crawling in trenches before you know it."

There's a beat. She brushes the bangs out of her face and looks down at her lap so as to keep the main force of the wind from hitting her delicate eye-balls. Jess can't help but notice how much like a 16-year-old schoolgirl Rory seems, even now, after all the pain they've caused each other.

"I'm really sorry, Jess."

"I know."

"No, I'm really, _really sorry_. I shouldn't have gone to Philadelphia when I did. I wasn't ready."

"We're even now."

She nods to herself. "I guess we are."

He kisses her without really thinking about it. She pulls away and smiles at him with her eyes still shut. The sound of leaves rustling and water splashing and the way her heart is racing and her fingertips are pulsing with heat and the smell of the fresh air and the impending rain and the lingering smell of smoke just _kills her_. She's paralyzed by the sensory overload.

Jess runs his finger across her cheek, and then his hand through her hair. He is mesmerized by the way it's whipping about. She just sits there, smiling to herself, as he does this. He puts his had on the back of her head and presses her to him, kissing her this time with more force.

She throws her arms around his neck and let's go of everything she's been holding on to.

* * *

**A/N:** Please review.


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